Pictures From May

We had a Dr. Seuss themed birthday party for Luke, complete with Cat in the Hat cupcakes. On my list of Things I Don't Ever Want To Do Again At 3 AM: Rolling two million mini marshmallows in red sugar.

"I wish these fool people would quit singing so I could eat my cupcake."

Of course, he blew more spit than air, so his friend had to help him out. And this right here? This is why we do cupcakes instead of a sheet cake.

Fuzzy picture of a happy, blue-faced boy

I made him smile nicely for this picture...

...which he agreed to, but only if he got to "roar like a dinosaur" for the next one.

Of course, I had to get Weston in on the hat-wearing action

This play kitchen is Weston's favorite toy ever, possibly because he gets to throw all the pots and pans and play food around and make an enormous mess.

...And here's his other favorite activity. Common thread: mess-making.

And speaking of making a mess...

This was at Luke's friend's birthday party. His mom had made some cloud dough for the kids to play with. Instead, they dumped it all out onto the grass and then, Weston decided that the bin was just the right size for him to sit in.

This was at the same party. Best baby pool I've ever seen. Deep end, shallow end, slide, and sprinkler.

I know the lighting is awful, but oh, how I love that smile. (Yes, he's wearing a pony tail. In retrospect, I should've done this for Luke's bday party and called him Cindy Lou Who.)

Pictures From April

The first time he climbed anything. And so it began.

The snake that was lying across from my car at a park. Of course, Luke insisted that we needed a picture.

 

Gotta love a sleeping baby!

Apparently, the food was taking too long...

Sometimes, this is what happens when I ask him to smile.

He was very interested in my mom's jewelry when we were in DC. He put on as many necklaces and bracelets as we would let him, and then sang "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," at the top of his lungs.

Who needs new toys when you can have the packaging that the toys came in???

Pictures from March

And as promised, here starts the onslaught of pictures.

I was looking back and realized that I haven't posted pictures since the beginning of March--could it be?! So this post has pictures from the rest of March.

Here's Luke, sitting on the engine of a train at a children's museum near us. This was taken less than four months ago, and yet, he looks so small in this picture, compared to the way he looks now.










We went to the beach in early March. We like to off-set our beach trips from the busy, summer season because (a) less crowded beaches and (b) cheaper rentals. We rented a beach house that was a block away from the beach with two other families and it was amazing. Just what we needed to get us through the remainder of the winter.

Of course, sand-tasting was a must!

I think he looks like Stitch (from Lilo & Stitch) when he wears sunglasses.

The aquarium had a "penguin day," where kids dressed up as penguins got in free. Of course, we missed it because we went the day after penguin day, but hey, I'd already made the costumes and Luke was excited about wearing them, so why not?




 

The aquarium had a petting pool. I pretended to pet the rays, but in reality, I was too chicken. Luke and McMoose, on the other hand, were not.

Strawberries for breakfast!

                    

You'll notice who had already finished all of HIS strawberries.

One afternoon, McMoose, Luke, Other Baby, and Other Daddy went off to explore the creek in our backyard. (On a related note: as soon as we saw this creek, I knew that this is the house McMoose would want to buy, specifically so he and the kids could explore it someday.)

Hello. My name is Pack Mule.

                                                        

Playing through the screen door!

There's still some baby left in him yet...

Eleven!

Weston is eleven months old today--could we really be just one little month away from his first birthday???

The past month has been marked by teeth. No, really. There are teeth marks on EVERYTHING--the foam blocks, pieces of food, my arms and legs. He has three now and one more on the verge of coming in. As a result of all these teeth, this month has been...interesting. Filled with night-wakings (even more than usual) and grumpiness--his AND mine.

He is also very interested in walking right now. Which isn't to say that he's actually walking, oh, no. No, what I mean is that he seems to believe that he's walking sometimes. His favorite game at the moment is to play catch with himself--he tosses a toy a few feet away, then crawls to it and tosses it again. Except that for the past couple of days, instead of just crawling to it, he first stands up, leans forward, and holds his hands back behind him. Kind of like he's skiing. He looks for all the world like he SHOULD be moving forward, except he refuses to move his feet. So instead, he holds the pose for a few seconds and then drops down and crawls to the toy, but I'm convinced that any day now, he's going to move those feet and then, he'll be gone.

Of course, he climbs just fine. Apparently, moving one's feet in a vertical direction is far more difficult than moving them horizontally. He climbs slides, stairs, furniture, step-stools--basically, he assumes that all things are meant to be climbed upon and he feels that he is up to the challenge. One afternoon, while Luke was napping, I decided that if he's going to be climbing up everything, he should also know how to safely climb back down, so we spent a good hour practicing how to go down the stairs feet first and he has gotten quite skilled at it. And thank goodness for that because otherwise, I'd spend all day rescuing this child from the high places he manages to climb. Yesterday, we were at a playground that had a slide that went over a hill and steps a few feet away. The slide was too steep for him to climb, so he watched the older kids for a minute, and then took off for the stairs. I decided to see if he really knew what to do, and sure enough, he climbed up the stairs, crawled across the top of the hill, and got himself on the slide. The only thing he needed help with was getting his feet situated before sliding down.

He also has been imitating all noises. His favorite noise to mimic might be Yellow Cat's yowl, and as a result, he does what he can to CAUSE Yellow Cat to yowl in the first place. The other day, I whistled to him and he immediately pursed his lips and blew back at me--even managed to get a little whistle going. He claps for Luke when Luke gets himself dressed. He dances to any music that has a good beat. He sits on his knees and bounces up and down while holding his arms up and saying, "Mama! Mama!" when he wants to be picked up. Luke gets excited every time Weston babbles something that sounds like a word and then spends the next day telling every stranger about all the things that his baby brother can "say."

As the weather has gotten hotter, we've been going to the pool more frequently. Luckily, Weston seems to enjoy the water almost as much as Luke did at this age. We hang out in the baby pool, where he likes for me to swish him around in the water while he tries to dunk his face into it and get a drink. We go into the sprinkler section, where he likes to hold my hands and walk through the spray of water or attempt to drink directly from the sprinklers. Like his big brother, he has no qualms about getting splashed in the face, which is a good thing, considering how frequently that big brother splashes him.

I finally loaded the past several months worth of pictures onto my computer, so I'll try to post them soon.

Long Morning, Long Post

They're building a parking lot for the community college behind our house, so every morning for the past two weeks, we've been waking up to the sound at construction trucks. More to the point, we've been waking up a good half hour earlier than we used to because the trucks wake Weston, who then wakes me. I can't complain too hard about this because even our half hour early wake-up time looks like sleeping in for most people because McMoose and I are not morning people, so we try to keep the kids on a later schedule. 9 pm is considered an "early bedtime" for the kids around these parts and we very rarely achieve it, especially in the summer when the nice weather tempts us outdoors after McMoose gets home.

So this morning, as we have for the past couple of weeks, we woke up "early" to the sound of the trucks. Since I went to bed an hour later than usual last night, I was tired before I ever opened my eyes. (Odd thing I've noticed: the nights, like last night, when Weston gives me a 4 or 5 hour chunk of sleep before waking up for the first time, leave me exhausted and grumpy. The nights when all my sleep is in 2 hour segments leave me feeling much more refreshed. Have I been living on broken sleep for so long that I find it more restful than unbroken sleep? How strange.) Before I was even fully awake, Luke wanted me to read a book, so the very first thing I found myself doing this morning was explaining to him that I needed ten or so minutes to really wake up before I could read. That went something like this:

Luke: Are you ready to read yet?
Me: No, I said ten minutes. It has been ten seconds.
Luke, 20 seconds later: Has it been ten minutes?
Me: No.
Luke, 15 seconds later: I think it has been ten minutes now, hasn't it?
Me: NO.
Luke, 30 seconds later: Mama, I waited forever and ever and ever. Is it ten minutes yet?
Me: YES, fine, let's read the book.

So we speed-read the book because Weston is going through a jealous phase (oooh, goody!) and the activity that he is most jealous of? Book-reading. Every time I sit down to read a book with Luke, Weston loses his ever-lovin' mind. Considering that Luke could happily sit and be read to for two straight hours (and I could happily sit and read to him for that same amount of time), this phase cannot end soon enough.

And then, it was time for the dressing process, which goes something like this:

Me: Ok, Luke, go put your pajamas in the hamper and your night-night diaper in the trash and go potty while I change Weston.
*Weston hears his name and tries to crawl off under the bed. I catch him and haul him up to the changing pad. He shrieks and arches his back and does his level best to free himself.*
Luke, still in his pajamas: Look, Mama, there's a ghost in the bathtub.
Me: Ooh, a ghost. Pajamas, please.
*Weston is still shrieking and has now gotten hold of a piece of my hair, which he pulls mercilessly. I extricate it from his grip and try not to yell.*
Luke, STILL in his pajamas: Did you know that ghosts say boo?
Me: Luke. Pajamas. Now.
Luke, whining: But I waaannnnnt yoooouuuu to do it!
*Weston notices that my attention is somewhat distracted and chooses this moment to flip himself off the changing pad and onto our bed. He then attempts to crawl OFF the bed. I dive across it and catch him by the ankle, keeping him from plummeting head-first onto the floor. Slowly pull him back up as he giggles manically.*
Me, huffing and sweating now: Luke. I'm getting Weston dressed right now. I want you to take off your pjs and go potty.
Luke, completely cheerful again after having watched my rescue of his still-chortling brother: Oh, you would? Ok! I'd be happy to!
*Weston tries to crawl off again. I pull him back and mess with the Velcro tabs on his cloth diapers, all the while wondering why on earth I thought it was a good idea to use cloth. Environment be damned, disposables would be so much easier on a wriggly baby.*
*Luke returns with a light saber. He is still--you guessed it--in his pajamas.*

Finally, everyone got dressed and because we were expecting some friends, I decided to clean the bathroom before we headed downstairs. Luke "helped" by picking fuzz off the carpet and piling it on the floor (of the bathroom. That I was cleaning.) and Weston decided that his life might end if I wasn't holding him. Ok. I can clean a bathroom one-handed. No problem.

We headed downstairs, armed with full bags of trash and recycling, which I set down by the garage door, fully intending to run them out to the trash can in a minute. But first, I had to clean up the cat vomit in the kitchen (again? AGAIN?!) and get Luke some almond milk ("Mama, can I have some cup milk? I really wand cup milk. I'm so thirsty and I think cup milk would fix that problem. Is that a good solution, Mama? Would that be a good idea? Can I have some cup milk now?") and start Weston's oatmeal. Of course, I forgot about the trash bags...right up until the moment when I saw Yellow Cat dragging a used, shredded "night-night" (aka: disposable) diaper across the hallway.

After cleaning up the diaper shreds and TYING the bags, I washed my hands and finished making Weston's oatmeal and got Luke a bowl of cereal with more cup milk, which he promptly spilled all over the dining room floor. Took some deep breaths and calmly helped him clean up the cereal and walked back into the kitchen, only to find that I had left the pantry door open and Weston had taken the opportunity to dump out AN ENTIRE BAG OF FLOUR. More deep breaths, more clean-up, then made some tea. Luke came by to see what I was doing and decided that he, too, would like some tea. Made him some herbal cherry tea, which caused all manner of fuss and fury because he wanted tea like MINE, which was caffeinated and the last thing I need is a caffeinated 3-year-old running around here.

As I was getting ready to sit down to eat, I notice a rather unpleasant odor emanating from the general direction of Weston. Right. Time for another diaper change. Upstairs we went to repeat the changing rigmarole again. This time, he fussed and squirmed so much that he managed to get his foot in his diaper and then, before I could clean it off, kicked me and the changing pad and the NEW diaper and his clothes. So new outfit for me. New outfit for Weston. LOTS OF DEEP BREATHS.

We went back downstairs and finally started eating and was faced with this scene:

Weston: *fusses and points at the table and signs for more*
Me: You want more? Here. *Offer him spoonful of oatmeal.*
Weston: *Purses his lips, turns his head away.*
Me: No? Ok, then. *Return to my breakfast.*
Weston: *Fusses and points at the table and signs for more.*

After a couple of repetitions, I realized that he wanted a bite of croissant instead of oatmeal. Ah, of course. Unfortunately, I had already eaten most of it, so I offered him a small piece. It blew his mind and he fussed and squirmed and fussed and squirmed, but there was no more. I decided that breakfast is over for him and for me and that he really needed a nap. I set Luke up at the coffee table because he can't push the dining room chairs back by himself, so when I'm putting Weston to sleep, he eats in the living room. Took two steps out of the room and heard an, "Uh-oh." As my heart sank, I turned around and went back to survey the damage. Sure enough, there was an entire cup of tea all over my living room floor and a 3-year-old on the verge of tears because he had decided that he really liked his tea, after all. Promising to make him another cup, I told him to go upstairs and put on some dry clothes while I mopped up the spill. Instead, he came back downstairs stark naked, holding that blasted light saber again.

(Eventually, I did get clothes on him. Eventually, I did get Weston to take a nap, albeit a seven-minute long one. Eventually, and with the help of my friend, we got most of the toys picked up and I got to sweep the floor and have a nice conversation and regain my sanity. But oh, how happy I was that all of this happened on a Friday morning, when I knew the slip-slide into the weekend would be short, if not entirely sweet.)

That Would Be A No

Me: Hey, Luke, we're running out to Starbucks because I need some tea.
Luke, looking up from his Legos: Ok. Can you bring some banana walnut bread back for me?
Me: Uh...you know you're going with me, right?
Luke: Aww...WHY?!
Me: ....because....I can't leave you at home alone...
Luke: I would really prefer to stay here. I'll just play with my toys. Don't worry.

Really? Are we REALLY having this conversation already? Dude.

Rolling. My. Eyes.

You know, I got some strange advice when Luke was a baby--mostly about how to avoid "spoiling" him--but once he became a toddler, most of that stopped. And this time around, I've been very pleased to not have received much in the way of unsolicited advice. Apparently, I looked like I had it under control (Ha!)

Now that Weston has figured out how to throw tantrums--isn't it awfully early for this?--the advice is starting. At a playdate recently, while I was trying to re-direct Weston and he was making his displeasure known:

Another mom: Have you started using time-outs yet?
Me, distracted and assuming she was talking about with Luke: Uh, no...I mean, not usually, but if he's having a hard time controlling himself, then we ask him to sit and calm down.
The other mom, looking confused: Haha...he understands that? *Gestures to Weston*
Me: Oh! Oh, the baby? Time-outs with the baby?
The other mom: Yeah! We started doing time-outs around this age for tantrums. We strapped him into his high chair and he had to sit facing the wall for a minute.
Me: Huh. Did it work?
The other mom: Oh, yeah, worked great.
Me: He stopped having tantrums?
The other mom: Oh, no. But we're very consistent. He always goes in time-out for tantrums, even now.

At this point, I started feeling a little bit seventh dimension-ish, especially when her nearly 3-year-old proceeded to have a tantrum about wanting juice. If only I could have figured out a way to word it without being blatantly rude, I would have loved to ask what her definition of "worked great," was because, uh, dude. If over two years of very consistent punishment for a behavior didn't result in the extinction of said behavior, I would probably be questioning my approach.

And then, last week, we were at the park and I took Weston out of the swing when he didn't wish to be taken out of the swing. Holy mother of all tantrums, that was a doozy. As I was standing there, wondering what demon had taken possession of my child, the mother at the next swing decided that I must need some advice.

Swing Mom: Oh, you need to pop him.
Me: Huh?! Him? *Gesturing to Weston* He's only ten months old.
Swing Mom: Well, if he's old enough to show his butt like that, then he's old enough to have it smacked.

I had to very quickly exit the conversation before I smacked *her* because really? Spanking a ten-month-old? For crying? Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't that just make him cry MORE?!

Looks like it's time to prepare myself for the onslaught of goofy advice again. Geezum.